


Until Next Time

by MCRmyGeneral



Series: Phone Calls and Promises [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Masturbation, Phone Sex, Post Season 7, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-01-31
Packaged: 2018-09-21 02:05:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9527045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MCRmyGeneral/pseuds/MCRmyGeneral
Summary: Ian lived for these conversations. They reminded him of how things used to be before. Before he went crazy, before Mickey went to jail, and before everything went to shit. These rare moments were the only thing keeping Ian going.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Set after the season 7 finale.

"Ian!"

Ian groaned, but didn't open his eyes. A warm hand slid over his hip and up his side. He smiled and squirmed.

"Babe, Fiona's calling you."

"I heard her," Ian mumbled, still half-asleep.

A warm breath crawled over his neck and sharp teeth teased his earlobe for just a second.

"I thought screaming your name was _my_ job," Trevor whispered hotly.

Ian smirked, finally opening his eyes. He rolled over, not giving Trevor a chance to react before kissing him intensely. Trevor's hand traveled from Ian's side down to squeeze his ass, which made Ian moan against Trevor's lips.

Ian pressed himself against Trevor, purposely digging his morning wood into Trevor's hip. Without a word, Trevor moved his hand from Ian's ass to grope his erection, palming him through his sweatpants for just a second before he plunged his hand into them. Ian gasped at the contact on his bare skin, arching his back and smiling.

"Jesus," He panted.

Trevor smirked and kissed Ian roughly, still working on his erection.

"Ian?" Fiona called again, probably at the bottom of the stairs.

"Fuck me," Ian panted, annoyed at having to cut his wake-up call short. He went to roll over, but Trevor pulled him back.

"What are-"

"Shhh!" Trevor whispered with a grin. He hadn't stopped moving his hand along Ian's cock, and Ian was having trouble keeping a straight face.

The boys both jumped when knuckles rapped on the bedroom door.

"Ian, you awake?"

Trevor clapped a hand over Ian's mouth to keep his moans quiet, but he didn't stop jerking him off. Ian rolled over onto his back, his chest heaving with pants as he tried to moan quietly.

"Ian?"

"Fi's right outside!" Ian whispered.

Trevor smirked. "Then you should really be quiet."

Ian scowled at Trevor, who just chuckled. But Ian's scowl didn't last long, because his orgasm was fast approaching. He arched his back and lifted his hips, thrusting into Trevor's hand a few times. His orgasm hit him like a ton of bricks. He pulled Trevor close and bit down on the boy's neck to keep from moaning out loud.

Trevor gasped from the bite, still smiling as he felt Ian empty himself into his hand. Ian fell back against the bed, breathing heavily. He heard Fiona's footsteps retreating down the stairs, and when he was coherent again, he playfully pushed Trevor away.

"You're a fuckin' dick," He laughed, grin mirroring Trevor's. Trevor leaned over him to wipe his hand on one of the dirty shirts on the floor.

"Say what you will, but I'm pretty sure you haven't cum that hard in weeks," He teased, "I thought you were gonna shoot right through your boxers."

Trevor laughed to himself as he moved to crawl over Ian. But Ian blocked him again, pinning him to the bed.

"What are you doing?"

"Payback's a bitch," Ian teased, sliding his hand down the front of Trevor's shorts.

Trevor gasped and let his eyes slip closed, losing himself in Ian's touch.

****

"Mornin'!" Fiona said cheerily to the two boys as they clomped their way down the stairs, both feigning yawns. "Slept in," She noted.

Ian stuck his head in the fridge, a chill washing over his still sweat-damp skin. He smirked. "We got in late last night."

Trevor had to bite his tongue to keep from grinning.

"I see. Coffee?" Fi asked Trevor, holding up the half-full pot.

"Please."

"I tried to wake you," She said over her shoulder as she poured coffee into Trevor's mug. "You really didn't hear me?"

Ian emerged from the fridge, an apple between his teeth. "Nope," he shook his head. He took a big bite of his apple. "Whaddi you wan?" He mumbled, his mouth full of fruit. Trevor shook his head and Fiona giggled. 

"There was a letter in the mail for you. Another one from Curtis."

Ian's smile fell for just a second, but he quickly recovered.

"Great. I always like hearing from Curtis."

"This is an army buddy?" Trevor asked.

Ian nodded. "Yeah, we were in basic together. I think he's stationed somewhere in South America now."

"Ahh," Trevor said, nodding once. He took a big gulp of his coffee and stood. "I gotta run, I have a parole hearing to attend for one of my kids in 20 minutes." He stopped next to Ian and wrapped an arm around his hips. "I'll see you later?"

Ian smiled warmly and nodded.

Trevor leaned in to kiss Ian's cheek, but Ian turned his head, capturing Trevor's lips instead.

"See you, babe."

"Bye, Fi!" Trevor called as he walked toward the door.

"See ya!"

The door closed and Fiona dumped the rest of her coffee in the sink. "I gotta split, too. You working today?"

"Nah, I'm just gonna laze around here."

"Will you pick the place up a bit?"

"No," Ian said with a smirk.

Fiona rolled her eyes and shoved him playfully. She slung her bag over her shoulder and cantered out the door.

"Love you!" She called back over her shoulder.

"Love you, too!" Ian answered, but the door was already closed.

Ian tried to finish his apple slowly, though every bone in his body was buzzing. When he couldn't take it anymore, he threw the apple core in the sink and nearly ran through the living room and up the stairs, grabbing the letter from the coffee table on his way.

****

Once Ian was safely in his bedroom with the door shut tight and locked, he hopped onto his bed and cradled the letter in his hands.

Fiona was either playing dumb, or ignorant. The scrawling handwriting on the envelope definitely did _not_ belong to one of Ian's army buddies. People in the service usually wrote in all capital letters. Even Ian was doing it when he finally came home from basic. It took him a good year to shake the habit. No, this writing was mismatched capitals and lowercase, tilted to the left and was written with so much pressure, it left indents in the envelope. But the spelling was the biggest giveaway. The envelope, like every other envelope labeled 'Curtis' he'd gotten in the past year, was addressed to 'Ian Galagher'.

Ian smiled every time he saw his name misspelled, the first time by accident, but now it was a joke. He lightly, slowly ran his fingers over the paper, feeling the marks from the pen's pressure. Ian lifted it to his nose and inhaled deeply. It had left its writer probably over a month ago, exchanged hands a million times, had probably sat in twelve different planes and vans and post offices, but still, Ian would swear that he could still smell the cologne faintly, could still smell _him_.

Finally, after a moment of reflection, Ian tore the envelope open, knowing he wouldn't find a handwritten letter inside. There never was. Whatever the man was to Ian, he certainly wasn't a 'letter' kind of guy. Instead, Ian found a few pages ripped from a Sports Illustrated magazine, used to pad the envelope and make it feel substantial. Ian blushed when he saw that both pages had Jonathan Toews on them. Ian had a huge crush on the Blackhawks captain, but only one person knew.

Between the pages was a scrap of paper, ripped crudely from a notebook. Like always, all that was on it was a phone number, this month's burner cell. Beneath the number were 2 M's.

Ian let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding. He closed his eyes and held the paper to his chest. Knowing that _he_ was the last person to touch this paper raised chills on every inch of Ian's body. He wanted so badly to grab his cell and call the number on the paper right now, but there were a million reasons why he couldn't. He had to be patient. It would all be worth it. Sighing heavily, he opened his eyes. The hours between getting the letter and making the call always had him itching and nearly crawling out of his skin. But at least he had something to do today. He folded the paper up and slipped it into the watch pocket of his jeans, snug against his hip, where he knew he couldn't lose it, and set to picking up the house like Fiona had asked.

****

“My roommates are gone tonight,” Trevor mentioned casually as he picked through the pile of fries on his plate.

“Gone where?” Ian asked, raising his glass to his mouth.

Trevor shrugged. “A bar? The movies? Don’t know; I didn’t ask,”

“Well, that’s rude,” Ian teased, and Trevor grinned.

“What can I say? I’m an asshole,” He said with a laugh. “So, if you wanna spend the night…” He trailed off.

“If I wanna spend the night?”

Trevor looked up from the table and grinned. “I feel like bottoming.”

Ian narrowed his eyes and scowled, and Trevor smiled. He knew that if there was one way to get Ian to do what he wanted, it was to offer to bottom. Ian had to admit, bottoming had its perks, and he certainly liked it, but he always had and always would in his heart be a top. But as good a lay as Trevor was, Ian had plans already.

“As tempting as that sounds, I really can’t.”

Trevor scowled. “Why not?”

“Early shift,” Ian lied, smashing a giant onion ring into his mouth. “Gotta be there at 6.”

“I don’t mind waking up early,” Trevor batted his eyelashes.

Ian smiled at his boyfriend. “Sorry, babe. I’ll make it up to you. Tomorrow night, I’ll bottom.”

Trevor smiled slowly, trying his damndest not to smile at all. “Fine. Tomorrow.”

Ian leaned over and kissed him, licking the leftover salt from his mouth.

****

Ian was already up and dressed when his alarm went off at 4:30. He silenced it quickly, and threw on his coat and backpack, creeping out the front door. After making a quick pit stop to grab the key ring from where Kev had left it in the mailbox for him, Ian made his way to the Alibi, walking much faster than he normally would.

He’d been buzzing with anticipation all day. These final moments were always the worst. He could sprint to the Alibi and it still wouldn’t be fast enough.

The town was mostly quiet, since it had been an hour and a half since bar close. The only people still up were either on serious benders or they had a mission. Like himself.

He let himself into the Alibi through the back door, locking up behind him. He ran through the bar, grabbing two bottles of beer on his way upstairs, and leaving a five on the bar top for Kev. Again, he locked the door to the upstairs apartment behind him, and for a moment, he stopped, taking in the feeling of absolute solitude that came with standing alone in the empty building. His heavy breathing rebounded off the walls, coming back at him louder than was comfortable. This place was creepy this late at night, but completely alone was what he needed. He took a deep breath and immediately the feeling of impatience was back. Ian was buzzing with anticipation, his brain sending only _Go, go go!_ signals to the rest of his body. His heart beat faster and faster. He didn’t know how he was managing to fend off cardiac arrest, but he was doing it. He kicked off his shoes, dropped his backpack unceremoniously to the floor, and nearly ripped his coat off. The scrap of paper in his pocket was burning like a red hot iron, a sliver of actual fire. Ian fell onto the tiny twin mattress he kept in the back of the apartment, pulled the paper from his pocket and dialed the number. His hands were shaking so badly that it took him three tries to get it right, but when he finally did, he felt like his heart had finally stopped. He managed to slow his breathing to time with the rings, but it only rang three times before the line picked up.

“Miss me?”

Ian breathed out the breath he was holding, and just like that, those two words, that unmistakeable voice, that familiarity unwound every knot in Ian’s body. His every ache dulled, his heart somehow sped up and slowed at the same time. His hands stopped shaking, his mind cleared and he felt as if all the bad energy and toxins were flushed from his body. With those two words, Ian was whole again. He exhaled a shaky breath, like all the wind had been knocked from his body, but in the most amazing way.

“Hey, Mick.”

He heard a small chuckle through the phone, and he smiled wider than he had in weeks. The last time he felt this content, this at peace, this euphoria was the last time he’d been able to call Mickey, more than two months ago.

“God, it’s good to hear your voice,” Ian confessed, almost on the verge of tears. Talking to Mickey was both the best feeling he had these days, and the worst.

“You, too, man. Postal service is getting lazy. Sent the last letter over three weeks ago. I wasn’t sure it even got to you.”

“I just got it this morning. You have no idea how hard it is to wait. As soon as I get that paper in my hands, I feel like I’m riding the worst high ever.”

“Don’t I know it, man. I’m fuckin’ helpless here. I’m at the mercy of the goddamn US Postal Service, for fuck’s sake.”

Ian laughed. “Where are you? Are you safe? Anything happen?”

“One at a fuckin’ time, Gallagher.”

Ian smiled sheepishly, though Mickey couldn’t see it.

“I’m somewhere in Costa Rica. It’s beautiful here, man. Beaches, sunrises, the ocean. Just like I pictured it. Only minus a certain redhead,” He chuckled.

Guilt coiled in Ian’s stomach, but it dulled as Mickey kept talking.

“No new breaks in the case. I assume I’m on like, the federal fucking watch list or something. But I haven’t seen my face on any news stations around, so that’s good. And I haven’t noticed any US police following me, so I think I’m pretty much safe for now.”

“Don’t stop lookin’ over your shoulder, Mick. Safety makes you stupid.”

“No, yeah, go ahead. Lecture the criminal on how to criminal,” Mickey teased.

Ian chuckled. “Sorry.”

“Besides the whole ‘on the run from the police’ thing, I’m okay. I’m drunk a lot.”

“You’re always drunk a lot.”

“I got real Mexican tequila at my fingertips here. Mexican drunk is drunker than American drunk, if that makes sense.”

Ian laughed again.

“Probably not as drunk as Irish drunk, though.”

“Fuck you, Mickey,” Ian chuckled.

“It is kind of cool, though,” Mickey said after a minute.

“What is?” Ian asked, cracking open his first beer.

“I escaped from prison, man,” Mickey explained, and Ian could hear the smile, the pride in his voice. “How many people can say they busted out of federal prison?”

“As of 1998, 6,530.”

There was silence on the other end.

“Mick?”

“Dude. The fuck?”

“I Googled it,” Ian admitted sheepishly.

Mickey laughed. “You’re obsessive, you know that?”

Ian shrugged. “Sue me.”

Ian heard rustling on Mickey’s end, and he assumed it was Mickey biting his lip or running his tongue along his teeth, his nervous tics.

“You takin’ your meds?” Mikey asked softly.

Ian’s smile fell. “You think I’m off my medication because I Googled something?”

“I didn’t say that,”

“You implied it.”

“I’m just curious.”

“You’re just freaked out that I might be unmedicated.”

“Is that so bad?” Mikey countered defensively. “You get destructive in different ways. When you’re manic, you don’t worry about your personal safety, and when you’re depressed, you-” He cut himself off.

“I what?”

“You fuckin’ scare me.”

Ian scoffed.

“I don’t mean it like that, Ian, and you know I don’t. I mean that it’s scary to see you so empty. Like you’ll never be happy again.”

“I always pull through.”

“It doesn’t make it hurt any less.”

Ian stopped for a second. “Hurt?”

Mickey sighed softly. “It hurts seeing someone you love looking like the walking dead. It scares me, and everyone around you. God forbid you take it to an even lower level.”

“You mean slit my wrists on the kitchen floor?” Ian spat, as hostile as he could.

“Fuck.” Mickey swore softly, and Ian could swear he heard a sniff.

“Fuck, Mick, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t,” Mikey warned, but Ian kept talking.

“I didn’t mean it. I’ve never had any desire to hurt myself, and I never will. I promise you that. I’m not Monica, and I’ll never be Monica.”

Mickey sniffed again, significantly quieter.

“Yeah, Mickey. I’m taking my meds,” Ian admitted.

Mickey scoffed. “You fuckin’ asshole. Was that so hard?”

Ian scoffed, a smile on his face.

“What else is new with you, man?”

Ian shrugged. “Nothing new to report. Same old house, same old job, same old chaotic family.”

Mickey chuckled. “How’s your boyfriend?”

“Which one?” Ian teased.

“Fuck you, man. The one that not on the run from the Feds.”

Ian snickered. “You wanna know how my boyfriend is?”

“I asked, didn’t I?”

“He’s fine. Same old boring Trevor. Thinks his parties and bars are exciting. Apparently he’s never blackmailed closeted gay men out of thousands of dollars.”

“Maybe boring’s what you need. A change of pace is good for you. Wasn’t your last boyfriend a hardcore criminal that was in and out of juvie his whole life?”

Ian laughed. “Yeah, but man, was he fun.”

Mickey laughed.

“Great ass, too. Tight as hell; you could bounce a nickel off that thing.”

Mikey chuckled again.

“Definitely better in bed.”

“Oh?” Mickey asked, amused.

“For sure,” Ian sighed dreamily, thinking back on all his carnal memories of Mickey. Just thinking about their sex life had Ian’s cock straining against his zipper in no time. “He gave great blowjobs. Ugh, the things he could do with a single flick of his tongue,” Ian recalled, biting his lip.

“Jesus Christ, knock it off, Gallagher. You’re giving me a raging hard-on,” Mickey breathed.

“Maybe that was the point,” Ian teased.

“Jesus Christ,” Mickey said again, but this time, his voice had slipped an octave lower, it was huskier and thicker.

“Do you remember the first time I blew you?” Ian asked, his own cock twitching at the memory. He reached down to palm himself through his jeans, just enough to keep himself level.

“Yeah,” Mickey sighed. “The cooler at the Kash n Grab, right?”

Ian smiled at the memory. “Yeah. You walked in all pissed off, something about your probation officer being a bitch or your dad being an asshole. I locked the door, brought you back to the cooler and before you even knew what I was doing-”

“You had my belt off and my jeans unzipped,” Mickey finished Ian's sentence.

“Yeah. And you looked so scared. Asked me what I was doing but I didn't answer, I just sank to my knees. 

“ _Fuck_ , man,” Mickey exhaled hotly.

Ian ground his heel into the base of his dick, hoping to keep it at bay for just a little while longer.

“Never had my dick sucked before,” Mickey confessed. “God, you're so fucking good at it.”

“You were quick. Didn't last five minutes,” Ian teased.

“Not my fault that you suck cock like a fuckin’ porn star, man,” Mickey countered, his breathing heavy.

“Remember how it felt? Cumming down my throat for the first time?”

“Jesus _Christ_ , Ian.”

Ian heard jingling underneath Mickey's voice, and knew it was the sound of a belt yanked off and a zipper sliding down. Ian did the same, pushing his jeans and boxers down his thighs. He grabbed his erection firmly, letting out a low moan as he did so.

“I remember you standing up, bending me over a stack of milk crates and fucking me like I owed you money.”

“I remember that orgasm like it was yesterday. My knees went weak.”

“It's been too long,” Mickey breathed.

“Since you jerked off?”

“No, since I've been fucked. Fuckin’ miss you, man.”

“Don't worry. You'll be takin’ it from me again, sooner or later.”

“God, nobody's ever fucked me like you have, Ian,” Mickey panted, and Ian could hear the slap of his hand on his cock in the background. He followed suit, moving his hand at a frightening pace.

“Fuck, Mick. I miss you. The way you arch your back when I hit it _just_ right. The way you whimper, the way you moan.”

Mickey moaned just then, losing himself in Ian's words.

“You close?” Mikey asked, out of breath.

Ian chuckled. “Real close.”

“Keep going,” Mickey demanded, “If I can't feel it, I need to hear it.”

“Fu-uck,” Ian gasped, Mickey's words sending a jolt of pure arousal to his cock.

He moved his hand even faster, listening to Mickey moaning on the other line.

He heard Mickey shudder a few times which means he was right on the verge of an orgasm, and Ian wasn't far behind. He knew that his mouth could get just as dirty as Mickey's and that it was Mickey's secret kink.

“I can't wait to feel you again, clenching around me, moaning, begging me to fuck you harder.”

Mickey's breathing went labored, and Ian knew he was shooting his orgasm all over his stomach. His noises sent Ian over the edge, and he too came hard and fast, hot cum splattering all over his chest and stomach.

“Goddamn, Gallagher,” Mickey panted.

Ian smiled as he watched his own chest heave with every breath. “Man, that was good.”

“Would've been better in person.”

Ian lifted his hips to pull his jeans back up and finished off his first beer.

“Yeah, it would've.”

There was a silence on the other end, neither boy knowing what to say.

“I'm sorry,” Mickey said finally, softly.

Ian lit up a cigarette and blew out his smoke. “What are you sorry for?”

Mickey sighed. “I didn't think. I didn't stop to think about if you would still be around when my eight years were up, I just knew I couldn't lose you. So I busted out. Then I didn't think about all I was asking you to leave when I asked you to come to Mexico with me. I didn't think about the position I was putting you in, asking you to choose between me and your whole life. If I'd have waited, thought things through, stayed in prison and kept my nose clean, maybe I'd be out by now. And we could be toget-”

Mickey cut himself off with a sniffle, and it made Ian's heart hurt.

“It's not your fault. I was such a dick. When I was with Monica, I let her get into my head and I let her convince me that you wanted to change me. But all you wanted to do was keep me safe. And then when you got locked up, I was so quick to just kick you away. Just drop you when you needed me. This is just as much my fault as it is yours.”

“Do you ever regret it?” Mikey asked, his voice thick with tears.

“Regret what?”

“Not coming with me. Leaving me at the border.”

Ian sighed and squeezed his eyes shut, stinging tears spilling down over his cheeks.

“Yeah, Mick,” He admitted with a broken sob. Mickey whimpered at the sound. “I regret it every day. I don't think I made the wrong decision. But that doesn't mean I don't hate myself for leaving. I wouldn't blame you for hating me, either.”

“I don't hate you, Ian. I never could.”

Mickey and Ian both sniffled at the same time, their tears drying slowly.

“It's, uh, it's getting late. I gotta be to work in two hours.”

“Yeah,” Mickey said, voice not quite level yet. “Get some sleep before you go saving lives, tough guy.”

“Fuck off,” Ian chuckled.

“Hey, just so you know, I'm gonna hang onto this number for a while. Got the phone from some real deal criminals, so it's completely untraceable.”

Ian smiled. “So I'll be able to call more often?”

“Text, too.”

“You don't know how happy that makes me.”

“Gay,” Mickey teased, but Ian heard the smile in his voice.

“Speaking of gay, I got a new tattoo a couple weeks ago.”

“Yeah? What is it? A rainbow flag above your ass cheeks?”

Ian smiled softly. “Two, uh, two M’s.”

Mickey breathed a shaky breath like he was about to cry again. “Where?” He asked, voice cracking once more.

“Right over my heart.”

Mickey inhaled sharply. “Really? Are you serious?” He asked, sounding pained and ecstatic at the same time.

“Yeah. Told Trevor it was an Army thing, but I don't think he bought it. He barely spoke to me for a week after I got it done.”

Mickey cackled on the other line. “Eh, fuck ‘im.”

“I thought the same thing. I mean, I like Trevor, he's a good kid and I care about him, but…”

“But?”

“He's not you. And it's always been you. Always will be you, Mickey. Guess you're under my skin, too.”

“Fuck, man. Why you gotta say shit like that to me, Ian?” He asked jokingly, his voice wet with happy tears.

“I love you.”

Mickey sighed. “I love you, too.”

“I'll talk to you real soon, okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Stay safe. Take care of yourself. You're coming back to me eventually, and I need you back in one piece.”

“Yeah, I know. Bye, Ian.”

“Bye, Mick,” Ian nearly whispered.

They stayed on the line for another minute, just listening to each other breath. Finally Ian took a deep breath and ended the call, biting his lip to keep from sobbing. As nice as it was to be able to talk to Mickey, hanging up always made his entire body ache.

He closed his eyes and curled up on his side, hugging his coat against his chest. He buried his face in the mattress and just let the tears flow. The worst part of talking to Mickey was knowing that that's all they had, talking. Not knowing when he'd be able to touch his skin or kiss his lips or bury his hands in that thick, inky hair again.

But as nauseating as it was not knowing the next time they'd be together, they both knew that there would be a next time. It was that thought that kept them both going, that kept them both surviving.

At least until next time.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been writing a TON of Shameless stuff lately, so if you have any requests, let me know and I'll see what I can do!


End file.
